


Crispy Realization

by farfarawaygirl



Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Party Dresses, Slow Burn, Sudden realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/farfarawaygirl/pseuds/farfarawaygirl
Summary: It’s just a lot to take in.Matt Casey. Gabby Dawson. Peter Mills. Kyle Sheffield.And her traitors heart.The possibilities for this to end up as a dumpster fire are limitless.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett & Matthew Casey, Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Comments: 8
Kudos: 191





	Crispy Realization

**Author's Note:**

> Now I want Gabby to show back up, as long as Casey doesn’t do our girl dirty.

There is never a convenient time to realize you have more than friendly feelings for someone who is strictly off limits. But, boy has Sylvie gotten good at avoiding things that have the potential to split her chest in two. Call it self preservation, or plain old denial, but Sylvie has straddled that line for the last year and a bit. Except, here is the thing, she can’t ignore it now. Not when she lays it all out in her head. 

Earlier tonight while she was getting ready with Emily, she had the fleeting thought, ‘I wonder if Matt will like this dress’. And then, all those carefully constructed walls of denial crashed spectacularly to the ground and she was left with her fingers fumbling to fasten her necklace as she stared at her own reflection, and watched the horror spread across her own face. It was like watching a car crash, she couldn’t look away, and everything was in slow motion. 

Like some really bad video montage she saw how clearly she had allowed this situation to get out of hand. She thought about a million ways she had let the situation get messier by the second. Last year when she Matt had gotten shot at, drinking with him at Molly’s, those purple flowers in his office for days after they should have been thrown out. His face at Otis’s funeral. Her telling him about her mom. Every confiding conversation they had over the last six months. His smile. She looked into her own eyes in the mirror and she felt acutely ill. 

“Brett!” Foster yelled, “the Uber is on the way, we should have left twenty minutes ago!”

“Coming!” Sylvie replied, giving up in the necklace and placing it back on her dresser. Her voice sounded strained to her own ears. 

What did she care what Matt thought about her dress? It didn’t matter to her, and it certainly didn’t matter to him. To Matt Casey she was just a friend. 

Cruz was having a pre-wedding reception at Molly’s, just a get together for out of town guests, and firefighters who would be on shift for his actual wedding. As her and Foster traveled to Molly’s she tried to piece the night together in her head. 

She was headed to party for her roommate, who was also her ex-boyfriend, where her former best friend, who was the ex-wife of her current crush would be present. Her former ambo partner, Peter Mills, who she had momentarily liked years ago, would also be there, And, for extra drama, her ex-fiancee, and the former CFD Chaplain would be there because he and Chloe had bonded when they had dated roommates at the same time. 

Honestly, she should turn the Uber around, fake the flu and hide out for the next five days until this whole wedding thing was done. 

Emily is eyeing her suspiciously, “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” Sylvie replies, willing her face to reveal nothing. Nothing is wrong, except for the fact that the faceless white knight in her dreams suddenly has a very real face. A very familiar, and dear to her face, with the bluest eyes she’s ever seen, and the most endearing furrow between his brows when he’s concerned. Nothing, except that a moment ago, she could have honestly replied that she Matt was the prototype for the man she wanted to end up with, and now she knows that what she really wants is the end up with him. 

It’s just a lot to take in.

Matt Casey, 

Gabby Dawson. 

Peter Mills. 

Kyle Sheffield. 

And her traitors heart.

The possibilities for this to end up as a dumpster fire are limitless. 

Sylvie smoothes the flowered blue and green of her dress down over her lap. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks of this dress, she likes it. It makes her feel beautiful. Julie had helped her pick it, and that in and of itself had been an emotionally jarring situation, picking out dresses with her mom. 

Julie had told her she looked like a princess, and for a fleeting moment Sylvie had remember her conversation with Matt in the car, had held the fabric between her fingers and felt like this outcome was better than royalty. 

She glances down at her impractical shoes, blue suede pumps, and tries to remember too breath. 

Apparently one of the side effects of her newfound realization of her true feelings for Matt comes an uncanny ability to find him without effort in a room. Sylvie spots him the moment they walk into Molly’s, his handsome in his blue shirt and dress pants, casually leaning on the wood of the bar. 

There’s the first blow, he’s standing at the bar, talking to Gabby. 

Sylvie feels her stomach roll over. 

She only has to stay for an hour and then she can leave, she makes the deal with herself. This is fine, she’ll just avoid everyone she knows and duck out early. She’ll make to up to Joe and Chloe later. 

“Sylvie!” Peter Mills, spots her and crosses the room in three or four of his big strides, grabbing her and picking her up. He hasn’t lost any muscle by leaving squad behind. 

His name falls from her lips, she’s breathless from him spinning her around, acutely aware of how many eyes have shifted to them in the bar. His smile is just as crooked and warm as it ever was, and she remembers what it was like to spend days in the ambo with him. His easy way with people, that special way he could make anyone feel safe. 

“You’re still as beautiful as ever,” he’s grinning down at her, beer bottle in hand. 

She feels all that warmth and safety she has always felt with him, come rushing back in. 

“I cannot believe it took Joe finally getting married to bring you back home.”

“I had to come back for a happy occasion, you know you’ve missed my moves,” Peter shimmies a little, making her laugh. 

“Who have you said hello too, already?” Sylvie inquires, motioning to Herrmann that she’ll take a wine. When he returns with her usual Rose, he grabs her clutch and jacket, storing them below the counter with a wink. 

Mills scans the room, “I saw Mouch, grabbed a shot with Cruz, caught up with my Squad boys, and now I’m here with you.”

“Well, I am honoured, Peter Mills. Such a distinction.”

Her leans in and hugs her again, how is it possible to just love someone this much, even if you haven’t seen them in years? Peter and her faced down death together so many times, that Sylvie knows that feeling will never go away. 

She wonders momentarily if that is how Matt feels for Gabby, an inexplicable draw. Like muscle memory. The need to protect, the urge to love. 

“Sylvie! Peter!” Peter and Sylvie untangle, and turn to face Gabby and Matt. Gabby crushes them into a shared hug, her arms tight around Sylvie’s neck. Over Gabby’s shoulder she meets Matt’s eyes, and watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. 

Matt and Mills share one of those manly back slapping hugs, while Sylvie and Gabby roll eyes at each other. It feels familiar, like slipping into a pair of your favourite well worn jeans, until Matt leans in to hug Sylvie. His hand touches her bare back, electrifying every nerve ending she posses. 

“You look beautiful,” Matt says, “I like your dress.”

Sylvie beams. Wine glass in one hand, she lifts the other and twirls a little, enjoying the swish of her skirt over her thighs. 

“Thank you, Julie helped me pick it out.”

“Good taste runs in the family.”

Sylvie feels unsteady on her feet, warm all over, so she tries to hide it by sipping her wine. 

“It’s crazy to see so many of us, in Molly’s of all places. After everything that’s happened.” Gabby looks up at the lights, reaching out and touching Matt’s elbow. Sylvie tries, and fails, to harden her heart a little. 

“So, Puerto Rico,” Peter smiles, “how often do you get back to Chicago?”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Gabby replies, tucking hair behind her ear, “I was here in November. But I didn’t get the chance to see everyone.” At this she sends Sylvie a self deprecating smile.

“You were busy,” Sylvie gives her an out, “with other things.”

Matt’s gaze has an actual weight to it, as it rests on her face. His mouth is turned down, brow furrowed. 

Casey is looking at her so intently, she can’t concentrate as Peter and Gabby talk. She tries to remember what it was like an hour ago when she was blissfully ignorant to the pain of caring for Casey. 

When she can breathe again she looks back at Peter and Gabby, only to find them looking back at her expectantly. 

Weakly she says, “Pardon?”

“They were asking how your current partner measures up.” Casey sounds amused as he repeats their question. 

“Foster? She’s lovely!” Finally something she can talk about. “She went to med school! She moved in with me and Cruz after...” and now she’s blinking hard trying not to cry about Otis. 

“After Otis died.” Matt finished smoothly, his hand coming up to cup her elbow. 

Why is it that these people, people who loved and knew Otis, are the people she least wants to speak about him too? 

Both Mills and Gabby are watching the way that Matt has moved his hand to her back. She doesn’t want the ever present rawness of her grief about Otis to fall under their scrutiny, but she can’t bring herself to move away from his touch. 

“Foster is a great match for Sylvie.”

Of course she is in love with Matt, he says things like that. She can’t help but beam at him, eyes crinkling as he smiles right back. 

“You’re just saying that because she always remembers to brew a fresh pot of coffee.”

“The most important skill I look for in all my paramedic’s.”

This is why she planned to avoid everyone she knew, because now that she’s aware of it, she’s sure her love for Matt shows on her face. With a concerted effort, she turns back to Mills and Dawson, waving at Chloe behind them when she walks past. 

“It’s crazy to see so many familiar faces, after all this time.” Petter is looking out at the room, so Sylvie looks too, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. Kyle is looking right back at her, she tries to melt into the bar, which mostly results in her stepping further into the arm that Casey’s has placed on her back. 

“Is that?” He asks surprised, fingers light on her spine. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sylvie babbles in reply, both Gabby and Peter turn around, stepping aside a little as Kyle steps in to the circle they had created. 

“Kyle!” Sylvie squeaks out, waving her wine glass and spilling a little on her arm, and Matt’s shirt. Matt’s arm is the only thing that is keeping her from bolting. Just turning on her heels and heading for the hills. 

“Sylvie,” he smiles at her, then loses the smile as he nods stiffly at Matt. “Casey.”

“Peter, Gabby this is Kyle,” Sylvie fights the urge to cover her face with her hands, “Kyle, Peter and Gabby.”

“Both of them rode with Sylvie on 61.” Matt explains. 

Sylvie feels the word vomit building in her chest, tries to fight it and fails spectacularly. 

“We used to be engaged.”

Matt’s eyebrows practically disappear into his hairline, Gabby and Peter have equally comical reactions, but none of it stops Sylvie’s wildly inappropriate expression of anxiety. 

“And Matt and Gabby used to be married.”

Sudden pressure on her side, and Matt pulls her into him a little, giving her the opportunity to shut up. Sylvie feels the heat spreading up from her chest, colouring her neck and her face. She turns to Matt, looking for an assist, and is surprised to see him laughing at her. 

“How much wine have you had?”

Sylvie feels an indignant pull of shock, “Like two sips,!” Gabby snorts, finding the humour in it. “Seriously, I’m just frazzled.”

Kyle clears his throat, and Sylvie feels the humiliation spread through her again. 

“Sorry, Kyle. How’s Indiana?”

“Good. Your folks say hi.” Sylvie thinks there is a small, but distinct possibility she is about to have an aneurism. 

Foster must sense that Sylvie need saving, because she calls loudly for Kyle to come over and pay up. He nods at Sylvie, gives Matt a tight-lipped smile and mercifully leaves them. 

“I am mortified.”

The four of them burst into laughter, Sylvie bringing a hand to her face and groaning. 

“That is the first time I’ve seen him since I left him this summer.” Sylvie offers weakly. Matts thumb finds the knot at the base of her neck and presses in, she pulls a face, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Its fine.” Matt assures her, clinking his beer bottle to her wine glass. 

“Wait,” interjects Peter, “you were engaged to the Chaplain? For how long?”

“About as long as it takes a broken arm to heal. But, I need significantly more wine, before I feel like I can talk about that.”

Boden makes his way over, patting Peter on the back, and redirecting the conversation. Sylvie tries not to think about the fact that Matt’s arm has stayed on her back. She listens to Gabby explain how her command work, swirling her wine in her glass. Severide calls Casey’s name, and he excuses himself from the conversation, which finally allows Sylvie to quietly pull away herself. 

She finds an empty spot at a table, perches herself on the chair and watches the room. It is full of people she loves; people she has run into burning buildings for. She feels an inexpressible sense of belonging. These are her people. Tony stops by, and brings her a wine refill, she blows him a kiss as he winks and leaves. One of Chloe’s other bridesmaids comes over to confirm Bachelorette plans, Sylvie nods her agreement.

“Seriously, that dress is,” Matt lets out a low whistle, as he slides onto the stool beside her. Sylvie throws her head back to laugh. Matt is looking at her face, earnest in the low light of the bar. 

“We can’t all just throw on a blue dress shirt and pants and look that good.” 

“You could.” Matt responds, knocking her shoulder with his. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Sylvie is glad that this remains, their friendship, even if being in proximity to him is causing a physical pain in her chest. She will take this pain any day. 

Matt leans back against the wall, Sylvie follows suit, kicking her heels out to start at them. She finished her second wine a while ago, so when Matt offered his half full beer bottle she accepts. They pass it back and forth until it’s empty, silent and companionable. 

The party has started too thin out, Emily waggled her eyebrows at them about half an hour ago as she left with a firefighter from a house across town. 

“You ready to split?” Matt stands ups, cracking his back. 

“Yeah, I’m going to get an Uber.”

“No,” Matt shakes his head, helping her down with a hand, “I’ll take you, it’s late and cold.”

“Let me say goodbye to Chloe.” Sylvie moves down the bar, giving Chloe a hug. Joe pressed a sloppy kiss to the crown of her head, she turns and finds Matt waiting by the door with her clutch and her jacket. He helps her shrug it on, laughing when Sylvie’s hair get stuck in the collar. 

“Either help me, or stop laughing!” She cries, fighting to free herself. 

“Calm down,” Matt instructs, stepping into her space and dipping a hand beneath the collar and gently tugging her hair out of the tag. “Easy.”

Matt offers her his arm with a dramatic flourish, pulling hers through his and leading her out the door. Just before the heavy wood falls shut, Sylvie looks back and sees Gabby. She’s just standing there, watching them leave. 

Frost is nipping the windows and grass, making the cement slick and crunchy beneath their feet. 

“That was a fun night.”

Matt makes a noise indicating agreement. 

Sylvie keeps trying, “It was nice to see Gabby, wasn’t it.”

Matt looks at her sideways, a frown on his face.

“Wasn’t it?” She asks. 

“I guess. Was it nice to see Sheffield?”

“Kyle?” Sylvie wrinkles her nose, “hardly, it was awkward.”

“Mills?” Matt readily responds. 

This makes Sylvie laugh, they’re nearly at his truck, “It’s always nice to see an old friend.”

He opens the door, and gives her a hand in, a gentleman through and through. 

“Hey, Matt?”

“Yeah?” he pauses, leaning in from where he’s standing on the curb. 

“Can we stop for some food?”

Matt is taking his head, but she knows him well enough to know he’s really going to say yes. 

“Only is we go too Little Bad Wolf.”

“I’ve been craving their taco’s all week!”

Matt closes the door, and raps the hood as he walks around. He lets her pick the radio as they drive, she’s used to the finicky nature of his car’s radio, and quietly settles on an old blue grass station, humming along to CCR as they takes the streets of Chicago. 

Once they find parking, Matt shucks off his jacket, tucking it over her shoulders. Sylvie is cold enough she keeps it on once they enter, they order massive amounts of food. Two types of tacos, a wolf burger with an egg to split, to make her laugh, Matt keeps adding side, Mac and cheese, fries and Brussels sprouts. 

She is never surprised at the easiness they have with one an other. She has know Matt for six odd years, in so many different capacities, and she has never felt awkward, or unsettled with him. He has this innate ability to make almost anyone feel as ease. They split the food, passing hot sauce and ketchup back and forth, talking about their friends. 

“Ugh,” Sylvie complains, patting her stomach, “We have to be at work in six hours.”

“I’ve definitely spent my night before shift in much worse ways.”

“One time Otis convinced me to go to a late night movie in Evanston, at this specially movie theatre, which was fine, except he lost his keys in the theatre and we had to wait until 3 am for Cruz to bring his spare.”

“Brutal,” Matt agreed, wiping his hand on a napkin, and then tossing it over at her. “I’m going to go square up.”

“Wait, I’m paying!”

“Nah,” Matt disagreed, standing up, “this one is on me.”

Sylvie joined him at the counter with the debit machine, leaning back on her elbows and looking up at him to joke about something. She felt a perverse sense of pride when she made him snort. 

“Matt? Sylvie?” They turned towards the sound of their names, and see Mills and Dawson, coats on the fight the chill, a waitress pointing them to a table. 

“Hey.” Matt greeted, calm and collected, “Enjoy.” He nodded to them, and lead Sylvie, still in his jacket out of the pub with his hand on her back. 

“Aren’t you worried about what Gabby is going to think?” Sylvie tried to keep her voice even, knowing she didn’t succeed. 

Matt has stopped, Sylvie turning back to see him in the street light. 

“I’m starting to get more worried about what you think.”

“What I think?”

Matt is nodding, playing with his cars keys. 

“What do you think, Sylvie?”

“About you and Gabby?”

“No,” Matt groans, tossing his head back, “about me and you.”

“What about me and you?” That feeling, the one where she is convinced she’s about to have an aneurysm, is back. 

Matt looks genuinely put out. 

“Sylvie.” He says her name, and when he says it, Sylvie feels the warmest, the safest, the best she has ever felt. “Please don’t tell me I have made this all up in my head.”

“You haven’t.” She cuts him off, stepping closer on the uneven street. 

Matt looks at her, really looks at her, giving her that slow Matt Casey grin of his. 

“Yeah?” He says, stepping impossibly closer to her on the street, his hands drift to her hips, pushing aside the extra fabric of his coat. 

Sylvie is nodding frantically, he own hands settling on his shoulders. 

“So, if I kissed you?”

“Matt,” Sylvie’s voice is shaking, she feels like her limbs are vibrating, “If you kiss me, you can’t unkiss me, I cannot go back.”

Instead of answering her, Matt kisses her. She feels every inch of him that is touching her, every place they are connected. His left hand comes up and cups her jaw, his fingers feather light on her skin, Sylvie thinks she might melt into the ground. She buries her face into his neck, arms wrapped around him tightly, sighing into his neck when he picks her up and swings her around. When he places her down, she peppers his face with kisses. 

“Matt?”

“Hum?” He mumbles the word into the tender skin of her neck. 

“We have to be at work in like, five hours.”

“So, you want me to take you home?”

She nods, “Please.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Matt takes her hand as they walk down the street.

**Author's Note:**

> He needs to kiss her already.


End file.
